She's here.

Adriana Rose Medley joined us tonight at 7:57 p.m., weighing in at 6 pounds 11 ounces, measuring at 19 1/2 inches long.  Grandma Pam at first said her head measured 33 inches, and then my Momma offered that 33 inches is the size of her waist, so perhaps Pam meant centimeters?  Oh yes, of course!  :)

I've not seen the little Princess yet, so I have no pictures to offer at this time.  Immediately after birth, Stacy and Jessie were given an hour of mommy/daddy/baby time before they were going to move rooms or some such thing.  Near 9:30, I looked around and realized that there were way more immediate relations present than my humble little "first cousin of the mom" title - Jessie's parents and sisters and nieces and nephews, Stacy's Mom and Dad - and that my turn getting in to see the baby was going to be a long time coming.  Stacy was awake since before 5 a.m., spent her day laboring,  and birthed a child, all without food since 11 o'clock last night.  I imagine she's not much interested in entertaining till midnight.  I'll meet my niece-cousin tomorrow, and I promise pictures will follow.

I did get a glimpse of her, briefly.  Pam snapped a picture of the new family with her small point-and-shoot:  Stacy laughing and crying holding her newborn, her face radiant but pale; Jessie standing at the edge of the bed, looking down at his daughter with love written all over his tear-stained face; little Addy Rose with her mouth open in a scream, her little red face scrunched up, her dark wisps of hair just visible under a little pink cap.  Pam queued up the photo and passed the camera to my mom, who shared with me, then Pam passed the camera to Stacy's dad, who couldn't make out the details well.  Momma says, "Rick, zoom in on it", and he pushes the trash can button.  "Rick," I say, "you're about to delete that, careful."  He moves the cursor up and down - and deletes the picture.  "You just deleted that, Rick."  He was crestfallen.  "Why did you ever give the engineer the camera?!" he exclaimed.  And thus the first piece of folklore involving our sweet Adriana Rose was created - I assured the new grandpa that we'll be re-telling this story for the next thirty years, about how Rick deleted the first photo of his daughter holding his granddaughter.

Congratulations, Stacy and Jessie.  Welcome to the world, Miss Adriana.  I love you all so very, very much.

It's been years since I've looked for a job, but...

I'm going to spend part of my weekend updating my resume and writing a cover letter.  And I'll probably go out and buy a professional suit of some sort.  I may dye my hair blonde.

Monday morning, I'm going to walk into my boss's office in my new professional suit, complete with heels and hose and lipstick, and I'm going to hand him my resume and my cover letter and I'm going to give him all the reasons he should give me this new position that's suddenly become available - the position I've been aiming for for the last 3 years, the one that I never thought would be open so soon, the job that will put me one step closer to being able to realize the financial and career goals I've set for myself.  

Unfortunately, two weeks ago, when I suggested myself for this job, his immediate response was "No".  This resulted in a lot of anger and frustration on my part, which was partly relieved when I sat down with him the next day and explained how offended I was by his dismissal.  He told me, in so many words, that I'm a bad manager, and until I learn to delegate, he can't move me up.  Fuck.  

So I, that very day, gave our assistant a big fat pile of bullshit work that ties me up for hours every morning.  I've been terrified to turn this shit over, because like all bad managers who don't delegate, I assume no one else can do it right and so I keep doing it myself even though it eats up way too much of my time every single day.  And you know what happened?  She got it the very first day.  Go figure.  I've had to correct a few minor things, but she's got it.  And I don't have it hanging over my head anymore.  Hmm.  Maybe there's something to this delegating shit.  When it comes down to it, there's nothing remarkable about the work that I do.  There's just a lot to it, and it's a lot for one person to juggle.  I think I can find a way to make it all happen without me being in the office each day.  

I want this job.  I want it because I already have relationships with my customers.  I know them, they know me.  They trust and respect me, and they think I do a good job for them.  Why shouldn't I be the one to go to them and propose new ways our company can service their needs?  

I've never wanted to sell things.  My dad started his career as a manager for a manufacturing company, and when that company forced him to resign (so they could hire two young guns with degrees for a fraction of his salary), he decided to pursue a career he'd always imagined he'd enjoy - selling cars.  That was 1993.  He's still selling cars, and he's damned good at it.  He's a good listener, and he's honest, and he cares about his reputation and the people who are driving the vehicles he sells.  Because of that, something like 95% of his business comes from repeat customers and referrals.  

Daddy instilled in me that sense of customer service.  I've used it to my great advantage so far, but never imagined it would lead to sales.  I never wanted it to lead to sales.  I've said very clearly I DON'T WANT TO SELL THINGS.  Who wants to spend days on the road, cold-calling on potential customers, having doors slammed in their faces over and over again?  Not me.  

This isn't that, though.  This is (mostly) calling on current customers, people I know and with whom I already have relationships.  There's travel involved, sure, but a night or two a way from home every few weeks won't kill us.  Jimi and I spend every waking non-working moment together, and have only been apart for two nights in the last 5 years - I think we can handle a little time away from each other every now and then.  (Granted, we both slept like shit those two nights, and missed each other like crazy, but still...)  And there will be cold-calling, and plenty of "NO"s, but that's just business, and well, business is just business - it's not personal.  

I need to have more opportunity to grow and show how awesome I can be, and I'm never going to be able to do that in my current position.  I would be fan-fucking-tastic in this job, and I deserve it.  I want it. 

I'm going to go get it. 

Boot camp and me, we're friends.

I'm diggin' this boot camp shiz, yo.  It's hard as hell, and tonight, when we did box jumps for two minutes after rowing 500 meters in 2 minutes, I wanted to quit so bad, but I didn't, and I busted out 5 more and then the timer went off and we stopped and my brain felt like it was going to blow up.  But it didn't.  And so I went and did the next round of torture.

One of the trainers said, "The best feeling is when you're finished and you walk out that door and you know you've pushed yourself."  Lots of murmurs of agreement and head nods between swigs from water bottles.  "I don't know," I piped up, because I can't help but try to be the center of attention, "drinkin' that beer while soaking in that tub after I get home feels pretty damn good."  And then he told my partner to give me extra resistance on the next round of exercises.  He was just mad that I was right.

How many times has your man just not come home?

A friend asked me that the other day, while telling me about her new break-up.  Six, was her answer.  Zero was mine.  I'd kill him.  To not come home, to just disappear for an entire night, with no phone call or "Hey, I'm staying at so-and-so's tonight" - cannot even imagine.

Another woman I know is in a long distance relationship - she says he's the best thing that's ever happened to her, that he's wonderful and is better to her than she ever imagined a man could be.  But every couple of weeks, he stops answering her calls or returning her texts.  For up to four days at a time.  Most recently at Christmas and New Year.  There's always some lame explanation - he was sick or busy at work.  Too sick or busy to text "I love you, but I feel like shit and can't talk because my throat hurts"?

Our administrative assistant has not been in the honeymoon phase since her wedding last July - her husband has a drinking problem and regularly becomes belligerent and mean.  Yesterday, she told me how the weekend was good, and how he's trying to turn over a new leaf and be a better husband to her.  Last night, he didn't come home.

So.  This is a normal thing?  This is common?  I wouldn't have thought so, but dang, there seems to be a lot of it going around.  How often does your husband/wife/partner not come home at night?  How many times have you stayed up till the wee hours of the morning, praying he'll pick up before the next ring, or that you'll hear his key in the door at any moment?  How many times have you wondered, "Should I call the police?  The hospitals?"

I had one boyfriend one time who did something similar.  He came home, he just came home very very late.  He'd been fucking another chick, of course, but I didn't learn that until many months later.  I was so relieved he wasn't dead, my anger was quenched by his bullshit story about playing some video game with his brother and falling asleep on the couch.

My ex-husband never did that, though.  Jimi's never done it either.  That's childish inconsiderate cruel unacceptable behavior.  Grown-ups don't do shit like that.

Leftovers

I want Judge Judy to adopt me and let me live in her awesome 14-acre Connecticut chalet and cook in her gourmet kitchen and play piano in her white formal living room.  (Kim texted me last Sunday morning and said CBS's Sunday Morning was featuring the Judge and I rushed to the television - I love Sunday Morning, but I also love silence on Sunday mornings, so the television was not already on and tuned in.)  I've been a loyal Judge Judy watcher for years, and now I want to be her adopted granddaughter.  I'll bet she give great birthday gifts.

My boss keeps giving me shit about the political stuff I'm sharing or reposting or stating on Facebook.  I told him I'll try to make sure I block him from those posts going forward.

I'm trying to sync my phone to the laptop for the first time since we got it back from the computer doctor.  I'm afraid.  I hate it when things don't work the way they're supposed to - viruses, hiccups, lost data - and then I get scared that it'll do it again and I don't want to bother with it.  But we live in a digital age, and I've gotta deal with it, right?

Pictures that I meant to post in 2011 but didn't get to because the computer got sick:

Do you remember the big green building up the way from work?

It's all gone now.  

~~~~~~~~~~ 

One building, three filters.

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Hi pretty puppy!

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A week or so before Christmas, Jimi and Steve and I had lunch and then spent part of the afternoon wandering through the Highlands, browsing in the eclectic little shops.

I've always romanticized the idea of this aimless strolling,

up and down Bardstown Road,

without a care in the world.

I haven't carved much time out to participate in this ritual,

but I always enjoy it thoroughly when I do.

 There's a store called Why Louisville.

It was my first time there, and I loved it.

I found myself wishing there were more out-of-towners on my shopping list - 

this store is perfect if you want to give someone a small taste of this awesome town.   

And then there was this:

Me too, buddy.  Me too.

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When I was a child, the arrival of the Christmas season was heralded by the arrival onto Granny's dining room table of a wooden bowl full of in-the-shell mixed nuts.  For the next six weeks or so, Papaw would crack and pick through that bowl non-stop - the cracking would be the periods and commas dividing up his verbal thoughts as we played Skip Bo or Riddle Me Riddle Me Ree.  This year, I bought a set of crackers and pickers and a bag of in-the-shell mixed nuts - I felt like a grown-up, continuing on family traditions.  (I'm pretty sure I bought a set of these when I was married, but what happened to those is anyone's guess.)

~~~~~~~~~~

We'd intended to go out of town for New Year's weekend, but of course, we were sick, so that didn't happen.  We spent most of New Year's Eve watching the Twilight Zone marathon on SciFi, but Angie sent a text asking what we were doing, so we scooped her up and headed to Cafe Mimosa for sushi.  

At one point, I looked past Angie and saw the two couples at the tables behind her.  Of course I'd noticed them come in, but I hadn't gotten the full effect of them sitting right next to each other.  

"Don't look now, but Mad Men just met Jersey Shore, right here in Louisville."  

 

And then Angie went on a tirade about people who dress stupid to get attention and then get mad when people stare and how if they don't want people to look at them they shouldn't dress stupid.  (I've gotta figure out how to post that shit.)

~~~~~~~~~~

During our sickness, we sought the much-loved comfort of Vietnam Kitchen.

Their magical healing spicy noodle soup is exactly what Jimi needed.

(And they have an asparagus crap soup that is out of this world!)

(Really, everything there is awesome. I just can't eat most of it because I'm picky.)

Anyhow, so we went in search of soup, and we also found this:

It's a pomegranate tree.  Complete with pomegranates.  

The owner says someone gave it to them years ago as a gift and they didn't know what it was

until it started growing fruit.

I want a pomegranate tree.  

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And now, scenes from The Drum Plant:

 I sorta want to have some of these printed.

And hang them on my office walls.

I may just do that.

The End.